Shelter
by I Heard A Voice
Summary: Draco is in need of someone willing to give him a chance after the War. After everything that happened, Harry can't ignore him. But how well will The Boy Who Lived and a Malfoy get on? ...Pretty well, considering. Harry/Draco canon. Reviews appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Shelter  
><strong>Rating<strong>: T at the moment for safety, but it'll most likely increase  
><strong>Summary and pairing<strong>: "You didn't see him. It was easy for us – black and white. We were on the good side, and the Malfoys – well, Lucius, certainly, and to an extent Narcissa – were on the bad side. But Draco was torn between what he felt was right and what he felt was right by his family. And after everything that had happened, I couldn't leave him, go back to those old, petty school rivalries when he was clearly in desperate need of a friend. I just couldn't. It would've defeated the entire point of what we'd been fighting for." Harry/Draco  
><strong>Author's note<strong>: We know a lot about how the Trio ended up, both through the epilogue in Deathly Hallows and through little bits and pieces JK Rowling has told us in interviews, on her website etc. But we're not told about what happened to everyone in the immediate aftermath of the War. This is my idea of what happened to Harry and Draco - and others - between the end of the War and the epiloge. My unending gratitude goes to the contributors of the Harry Potter wikia page - in my never-ending quest to keep this story as canon-compliant as possible I have used that website more times than I can count. Read, review, enjoy!

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><p>"<em>Blimey<em>, look at Malfoy! The years haven't been kind to him, have they?"

"Ron! What kind of example are you setting the children?" Hermione admonished sternly.

Harry had expected to see Draco at the platform, sending his son off to Hogwarts at the same time as Harry himself was Albus – but it didn't mean he was any more prepared to see Draco, almost twenty years older than when he'd last seen him - and with a wife and child in tow to boot. He had a vague memory of Draco's son, Scorpius, being born at a similar time as Albus and Rose, Ron and Hermione's daughter. In the background, Harry could hear Ron giving Rose an encouraging talk about making sure she beat him in every test, Hermione sighing exasperatedly.

Draco raised his head and met Harry's eyes, giving him a nod of recognition and a slight smile. His wife, a slender dark-haired woman followed Draco's gaze and tugged at his elbow, bringing Draco's attention back to their son, the absolute image of Draco himself.

"That was odd," Hermione remarked, turning to Harry. "Did… Did Draco smile at you? Have you two even spoken since he and his family disappeared after the battle?" Hermione's brows were furrowed slightly. Harry and Ginny exchanged looks.

"We've, well, _I've_ been keeping in contact with Draco. Just off and on, you know. Cards at Christmas, the occasional letter, just to see how each other are doing."

Ron stared incredulously. "But, _why_? You do remember who this is we're talking about, don't you? This is _Malfoy_, Harry; this isn't like one of the people from Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw we shared the occasional class with." Harry took a deep breath before elaborating.

"Not long after the Battle, after I left The Burrow, I bumped into him in London. He was practically on the run from both those who remembered that had sided with Voldemort as well as the former Death Eaters who remembered that he and his family had stayed with us."

"Bloody cowards," Ron muttered, receiving an elbow to the ribs and a very pointed look at Hugo from Hermione, who was holding his mother's hand and looking up, eyes like saucers, at Harry.

"I think what Ron's trying to say, Harry," Hermione continued, striving for diplomacy, "is, why did you and he agree to keep in contact with each other? You had nothing in common through school, apart from a mutual hatred and suspicion of each other, and when the going got tough at the end of the battle, not only did he side with Voldemort despite you saving his life – twice, but he and his family practically disappeared afterwards and managed to avoid prosecution because they switched sides right at the end."

"I couldn't leave him there, Hermione," Harry replied quietly, conscious that Draco could probably hear them. "You didn't see him. It was easy for us – black and white. We were on the good side, and the Malfoys – well, Lucius, certainly, and to an extent Narcissa – were on the bad side. But Draco was torn between what he felt was right and what he felt was right by his family. And after everything that had happened, I couldn't leave him, go back to those old, petty school rivalries when he was clearly in desperate need of a friend. I just couldn't. It would've defeated the entire point of what we'd been fighting for."

The train whistle blew, and Hermione suddenly snapped out of her thoughts. "Oh my god, it's about to leave!" She ran to the window of the compartment where Rose was sitting with James and Albus. "Bye, darling!" she said, blinking back tears and reaching for Rose's hand through the window. "Write to me as often as you can, and make sure you try your hardest in lessons – but being top isn't everything, sweetheart."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "That's definitely a first from your mother!"

"Ignore your father, Rose. Have a safe journey, be good!" Hermione called as her daughter gave her one final, slightly manic wave, and turned back to face the others in the compartment. The train whistle blew once more and slowly it began to pull out of the station. Ron handed her a handkerchief. "Oh god, I didn't think it'd be this hard, waving her off to start school!"

Ginny patted her shoulder comfortingly. "It gets easier every year," she said, smiling. "Doesn't it, Harry?"

Harry tore his eyes away from the Malfoys, who were striding away from the platform, heads bowed. "Hmm? Oh, yes, it really does, Hermione. Just wait, by the time Hugo's ready to go off you'll be grateful to get shot of him!"

Hermione tried to smile but her lower lip was quivering and her eyes filling with tears. Ron reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "I think we'll take that as our cue to head home," he said, jokingly. "We still on for dinner next weekend?" Ginny nodded. "Brilliant. See you then, then. Come on, Hugo – I think your mum's got some jobs lined up for the two of us to get started on once we're home." The three waved to Harry, Ginny and their daughter, and walked away.

Harry sighed and Ginny turned to face him, rubbing his arm. "You okay?" He nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. It's just… It's weird, seeing him again. When it's just letters, I can forget that he really exists and he's _married_ and he has a son Albus's age…"

Ginny laughed. "Harry, you have _three_ children, and only one of them," she said, stroking Lily's hair, "hasn't left us yet!" She kissed him lightly. "Come on, let's go home." Harry smiled, put his arm around her waist and reached for Lily with his free hand, and the three left the platform and slipped back into the Muggle world, unnoticed.

_19 years earlier_

"Harry, I – I don't think I can do this. Not tonight." Ginny pulled the sheets over her chest and turned to face Harry, lying next to her in her bed in the Burrow. "It's just, it feels like we've _just_ buried Fred, it doesn't feel right." Harry ran his fingers through her hair.

"Yeah, it feels wrong to me, too." He sighed and sat up, rubbing his face. "I don't know, I thought, naively, I suppose – that after the battle, the two of us would just pick up from where we left off." Ginny smiled slightly.

"So did I. But then again, it's not like either of us imagined Fred leaving us…" She trailed off and bit her lip as tears filled her eyes. Harry gently wiped them away with the pad of his thumb, and kissed her cheek. She swallowed. "Maybe the best thing to do is just to put this on hold for a bit. Give us both time to sort ourselves out, decide what we're going to do now, rather than rushing into anything when neither of us have any idea about what'll happen next."

Harry nodded. "It's not what I really want, but it's definitely what's best for both of us," he agreed. "I'll probably go back to Grimmauld Place, see if I can do anything to it to make it a bit more welcoming feeling. Any time you want to visit, help me, I don't know, hang new wallpaper, try to get rid of that portrait of Mrs. Black, you know how to get there." Ginny smiled and curled herself around Harry, wrapping her arm around his waist.

"And you know, the Burrow's always here if you want some home comforts, or a hideously patterned jumper," she said, laughing.

"I might take you up on that offer," Harry joked. "I've really felt bereft of some very… interesting jumpers in the past few years." He curled a strand of her hair around his finger and leaned down to kiss her. It lasted longer than either of them expected – somehow, deep down, it seemed like they'd both sensed that this would be their last kiss like this for quite some time.

"Goodnight, Harry," Ginny whispered, removing the Imperturbable Charm from her bedroom door and snuggling down under the covers.

"G'night, Ginny," Harry replied, quietly.

The next morning, before Ginny or anyone else in the house had stirred, Harry kissed Ginny lightly on the forehead and slipped out of bed, leaving a note in the kitchen for the family.

_I thought you all could do with some time to yourselves. If you need me, I'll be at Grimmauld Place. Take care, all of you._

_ Harry_

He Disapparated once outside the Burrow, and reappeared on the steps of number twelve. As soon as he stepped through the door, the spectre of Dumbledore came rushing towards him. Harry listlessly told it, "I didn't kill you", and it disintegrated. He made a mental note to remove all of Moody's protective spells from the house – with Voldemort gone, the Order disbanded and all of the Death Eaters in hiding and certain to be sent to Azkaban, it no longer seemed necessary to protect the house to the same extent. He shrugged his bag onto the floor in the hallway and wandered downstairs into the kitchen, wishing that Kreacher was there to make him some breakfast.

"Kreacher?"

His words hung in the still house, and it soon became apparent that Kreacher was not there, and was making no attempt to leave wherever he was. Perhaps he'd decided to obey Harry's last order to him, maybe as a way of thanking Harry for finally treating him with the respect Hermione had always maintained he deserved.

Harry sat at the kitchen table, studying the marks decorating its surface. Carved initials (SB and RAB sitting alongside RW and, to Harry's immense surprise, a tiny, very dainty HG), a burn mark from where a hot pan had been placed hurriedly on the bare wood, scratches where someone had been writing without anything between the parchment and the table – all signs that the kitchen had, at one time, been a hive of activity. He half expected there to be a sudden increase in volume as the rest of the house's inhabitants awoke and came clattering downstairs, for the door to open and for someone, Lupin, perhaps, or maybe even Sirius himself, to come through into the kitchen, muttering about Mad-Eye's ridiculous procedures and protective spells to keep everyone safe and how much of a hassle they were. This was the first time he'd been here on his own, he realised. It was not an entirely pleasant realisation, and he found himself longing for some noise, some company, some proof that there were other people out there.

Harry stood up and walked to where he'd left his bag, reaching for his Invisibility Cloak when he changed his mind. He didn't need to hide anymore. Feeling freer than he had in years, he Disapparated to Diagon Alley, happy to see that while trade hadn't yet returned to normal, it was certainly looking better than the last time he'd been there. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes's storefront, at first lively and surrounded by passers-by, was still. Harry was touched to see that the damage caused by Death Eaters had been patched up, albeit hastily, by members of the wizarding public. Scraps of parchment with messages for Fred and George had been magically stuck to the windows, thanking them for continuing to sell their products "in these dark times – particularly dark thanks to the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder! Cheers boys." Harry smiled, and added his own note to those already covering the windows.

_Now we don't have to worry about U-No-Poo or You-Know-Who. If I ever need employment, I'm coming to you. HP_

He carried on through the street, encouraged by seeing some of the shops obviously heading towards being re-opened, and much of the rubble left from the Death Eaters' attack cleared away. Harry wandered idly through Diagon Alley, passing the occasional witch or wizard who courteously nodded and then, once he'd gone past, suddenly realised who he was. He was just walking past where Ollivander's, thankfully, still stood, when he spotted someone curled in a corner, the unmistakeable blonde hair Harry's only clue as to their identity.

"Malfoy?" His head snapped up.

"Oh, Potter. It's you." Harry frowned. Malfoy's cheeks were sunken, his eyes tired looking, and his usually immaculate black suit worn and dusty.

"You look terrible. Are – are you living on the street?" He nodded slowly.

"I don't exactly have a home to return to now, do I?" Harry's eyes widened.

"Your house wasn't destroyed, was it?" Malfoy looked away.

"I don't really want to talk about it, Potter. There's nothing you can do, so don't bother trying to play the valiant hero, saving the day yet again. It's done." His voice was tired. Harry frowned.

"You're coming with me – we're going to get a coffee. I won't take no for an answer. How long has it been since you ate something?" Hesitantly, Malfoy stood up.

"One coffee, and you can't press me for information about what's going on. Deal?" He held his hand out, and they both were struck by the symmetry of this gesture – just seven years ago, he'd done the very same when trying to convince Harry to befriend him over Ron. Harry accepted his outstretched hand.

"Deal," he agreed, shaking Malfoy's hand, and it was more than just an agreement to let Harry buy him a coffee without asking questions, it was a truce of their seven year rivalry. Malfoy followed Harry out of Diagon Alley through the almost deserted Leaky Cauldron, emerging into the hustle and bustle of Charing Cross Road. All around were signs of a massive clean-up operation. The Prime Minister, presumably under the orders of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the acting Minister for Magic, had blamed the destruction on terrorism, an alibi that had initially been readily accepted by the Muggle public but was starting to come into question.

"There's a coffee shop over there," Harry said, pointing to a small café, tucked away from the main street.

"I haven't got any money," Malfoy mumbled. Harry waved his hand dismissively.

"It's on me, don't worry about it."

"This is the first time that money's been an issue," Malfoy said, with the air of someone who's only just realised something truly earth-shattering. "And not because it's Muggle money – I don't have _any_ money. At all." Harry hesitantly patted his shoulder.

"Ways and means, Malfoy. Come on, you need a coffee."

"What I need is a Firewhiskey," he muttered to Harry's amusement, and followed Harry along the street to The Gateway Café.

The two took a seat in the back corner of the café, sitting opposite each other in enormous squashy chairs. A waitress came to take their order, eyes softening as Harry ordered for the two of them.

"So," Harry said. "You've nowhere to live then? What happened to that enormous house I remember so well?" The blonde frowned.

"You're breaking the terms of our agreement, Potter. We said this was just coffee, not an opportunity for you to be nosy." Harry held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Okay, okay, a deal's a deal." The waitress reappeared with their coffees and sat them down on their table, surreptitiously pushing a napkin with her number written on it towards Harry as she placed the milk and sugar on the table between the two. After she left, Harry picked it up and tore it in half.

Malfoy raised his eyebrow at this action then nodded knowingly. "Ahh, I'd forgotten. You're with the Weasley girl aren't you, Ginny?" Harry's attention became very fixed on pouring in a sachet of sugar and stirring it into his coffee particularly vigorously. "Oh," he said. "I see. Sorry."

"It was mutual," Harry said, shortly. "You know, her family are dealing with Fred's death, we're all trying to decide what's best for Lupin and Tonks's son… it's just a bad time at the moment."

Malfoy nodded. "If you speak to Ron at all, pass on my condolences." Harry's head shot up, his eyebrows raised. "What?"

"Nothing," Harry replied, shaking his head and returning to stirring his coffee. "I'm just wondering what happened to the old Malfoy, you know, the snarky one, the one who'd say something about how the Weasleys wouldn't miss one of their brood." Malfoy scoffed.

"In case you've not noticed, Potter, I'm not quite the same person as I was when we were in school. It wasn't just you who had to go through something hard these past few years, you know. And besides, after going through what we did, these little school rivalries become –"

"Childish, petty, immature?" Harry supplied, helpfully.

"Tasteless." Harry laughed.

"They always were tasteless, Draco." The two of them sat in silence, sipping their coffee. Malfoy didn't seem to register the change in how Harry addressed him. "But I will. Tell Ron, I mean. Thank you." Draco nodded curtly.

"You're lucky, you know." Harry looked inquisitively. "I mean, you still have your friends around you. I'd be lucky to find anyone who'll give me a chance now, after what happened back there."

"I've given you a chance, haven't I?" Draco couldn't quite bring himself to look Harry in the eye, and took to stirring more milk into his coffee.

"Our house is pretty much abandoned." Harry set his cup of coffee down on the saucer. "My parents are essentially on the run, either hoping someone who's not going to get sent to Azkaban will look after them and keep them hidden, forgetting that they ended up on your side, or trying to curry favour from those they're hoping remember they ended up on your side by the end. Cowards." Harry frowned.

"What do you mean?" Draco took a long sip of coffee.

"They only changed sides because they were trying to save themselves. It wasn't because they'd suddenly realised that the side they'd been fighting for was the wrong one – it was because it was becoming quickly apparent that it was the _losing_ side and that if they continued on that side they'd be going straight to Azkaban. They could've switched when they could _see_ I was struggling between who to side with. If you could forgive me for everything I did and rescue me from that room…" He trailed off.

"But Draco," Harry said, gently, "You could've stayed on our side instead of going over to join Voldemort." Draco sighed.

"With hindsight, I wish I had. At least that way I wouldn't be on the run." A long silence hung between the two, punctuated by the sound of the milk steamer.

"Come and live with me." Draco's head snapped up.

"What?"

"I'm serious," Harry said, meeting Draco's eyes. "I have a huge house just outside of London, and it's just me rattling around in there, and I hate it, I've only been alone in there for an hour and already I hate it. If you wanted, you could have your own _floor_ for all I care, we'd only have to see each other if we made a real effort to." Draco looked uncertain. "Come on, Draco. You were looking for a chance from someone and you need a place to live with walls and a roof, and I'm offering you both."

"I don't know… I mean, after everything that happened? The way we treated each other in school?" Harry waved his hand.

"Water under the bridge. As you said, those childhood feuds seem ridiculous considering what we've lived through – particularly when others haven't." They sat in silence, slowly draining their coffee, running through the list of their schoolmates who hadn't survived. "So, do you want to? Live with me, I mean. Just until you get yourself sorted, build up a new reputation. Nothing says a fresh start like a Malfoy co-habiting with The Boy Who Lived," Harry joked. Draco still looked unsure. "If you want to be re-integrated into society and make a name for yourself that isn't tied to your parents, you'll need a permanent place to stay first." Finally, Draco nodded.

"Yes. Okay, yes, I'll live with you. If you're sure." Harry nodded, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "Thanks, Harry. Truly. And not just for this –" Harry stopped him.

"If it was reversed, you'd have done the same for me." Draco laughed, a little ruefully.

"I'm not sure I would have, if I'm honest."

"I know," Harry said, quietly. "I just have to believe that you would have."


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Shelter  
><strong>Rating<strong>: T at the moment for safety, but it'll most likely increase  
><strong>Summary and pairing<strong>: "You didn't see him. It was easy for us – black and white. We were on the good side, and the Malfoys – well, Lucius, certainly, and to an extent Narcissa – were on the bad side. But Draco was torn between what he felt was right and what he felt was right by his family. And after everything that had happened, I couldn't leave him, go back to those old, petty school rivalries when he was clearly in desperate need of a friend. I just couldn't. It would've defeated the entire point of what we'd been fighting for." Harry/Draco  
><strong>Author's note<strong>: This is part two of an as-yet unknown length fic - it's certainly the longest fic I've written in my nearly ten years of fic writing! I hope you all enjoy it!

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><p>The two Apparated with a <em>crack<em> outside of Number Twelve, although Draco seemed to be looking straight past it.

"Where exactly am I supposed to be looking?" asked Draco, looking first at number eleven, stereo still blaring, the bass making the windows shudder, and then number thirteen, where they could vaguely see an elderly couple pottering about through their net curtains. Harry frowned.

"What do you –" Realisation suddenly dawned. "But Dumbledore was the original Secret Keeper, so –"

"When the original Secret Keeper dies, anybody who knew the secret before their death become Secret Keepers," Draco informed him. "All you have to do is tell me the secret and then I'll be bound in the same way as you are. Honestly Potter, do you _ever_ read?"

"Didn't have the time when I was off trying to save the world," Harry responded, smiling. "Besides, we had Hermione about so there was never any need to." Draco laughed. "Okay, um," Harry said, running his hand through his hair, brow furrowed. "How specific does it have to be? Does it have to be exactly what _I_ was told, or is me telling you that the house is number twelve Grimmauld Place?" As Draco opened his mouth to reply, number twelve appeared, squeezing between numbers eleven and thirteen. "Well, I guess that answers that question…" Harry trailed off. "Come on, let's get in, it looks like rain."

As they stepped through the door, the dust spectre of Dumbledore once again came rushing towards them, arms outstretched. "I didn't kill you," Harry replied, blithely. "That's all you have to say when you walk in, Draco – Draco?" Harry turned to see Malfoy, cowering in fear, ready to bolt any moment.

"Oh, God, Draco, I'm sorry, I didn't think – do you have any idea how to remove protective charms? Draco?" Draco was still backed into the corner, looking even paler and hunted than before.

"Until you manage to get rid of that – _thing_," Draco said in a low voice, "I'm not leaving the house. Understood?" Harry nodded.

"Draco, I'm so sorry, I had completely forgotten, for me it's just like unlocking the door," Harry apologised. Draco held his hand up to stop Harry.

"Just get it sorted," he demanded, somewhat imperiously. "Please," he added, his voice breaking. Harry nodded.

"Do you want the tour now?" Draco shrugged, then changed his mind and nodded. Harry smiled. "Okay, well, this is Mrs. Black. She screams a lot when it gets noisy, so I'd be careful."

A sly smile crept along Draco's face. "OKAY!" he bellowed. The curtains covering the portrait flew open as Mrs. Black began shrieking.

"_Scum of the earth, desecrating my home with traitors_ –" All of a sudden, Walburga Black stopped her protests and turned her attention to Draco. "_Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy, née Black_?"

Draco turned, puzzled to Harry, who shrugged. "Er… yes?"

"_This is your ancestral home and you have returned. Unfortunately you brought this blood traitor with you_," she added nastily, glaring at Harry. Draco squared up to the portrait.

"Actually, he brought me here. This is his home and he is letting me stay here."

The portrait of Sirius's mother paused for a second before bellowing, "_Filth! Traitor! Scum of the earth!_" Harry yanked the curtains closed over the painting and took a deep breath.

"So that's my great aunt. She's a real charmer," Draco muttered darkly.

"In more ways than one," Harry added. Draco looked inquisitively at Harry. "She managed to attach a Permanent Sticking Charm to her portrait so nobody can move it." Draco laughed.

"You probably should've told me that before I insulted the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," said Draco, shrugging off his coat. "So, are you going to give me the tour or not?"

Harry smiled and willingly obliged, showing Malfoy all the sights of Grimmauld Place, including the wall of House Elf heads which even he admitted was a very, very bizarre practice "even by pureblood standards". Harry took Draco into the drawing room, where the enormous family tree was spread across the walls, various distant relations' names burned out from where they'd done something to displease Mrs. Black. Draco walked slowly around the room, touching the names as if, by maintaining some form of contact between himself and the tapestry, the power and respect the Black family had commanded would help to rebuild the Malfoy name. As he came to his part of the family tree, he withdrew his hand as if he'd been burned and, staring darkly at his father's name and picture, said through gritted teeth, "_Traitor_." Suddenly, the leaf of the tree where Lucius had once appeared glowed as if Draco'd just put a cigarette out on it, then the embers died down and there was what looked like a burn mark over Lucius's smug face. Draco and Narcissa were untouched, and Draco looked somewhat stunned at Harry, who returned the expression.

"I didn't know it would happen," Draco said, almost accusingly.

"I didn't either!" Harry exclaimed, his hands held up in surrender. "I'm not even a member of the Black family, Sirius is my godfather. This must be old, old magic, designed to respond to the emotions and allegiances of the descendants of the house…" Harry examined the burn mark where Lucius had once been, and gently ran his thumb over the image. "But you must really, _really_ have to mean it for that to happen, otherwise the entire tree would be burned apart from Tonks's family and the Weasleys." Draco stood, arms crossed defensively.

"I didn't realise I thought that about my father. So strongly and vehemently, anyway." Harry and Draco stood in silence, then Draco allowed himself to be steered away from the room.

"There are six bedrooms in the house, and three floors above this one," Harry informed Draco as they stood outside the drawing room. "One's there," he said, indicating the room that had once housed Hermione and Ginny, "and two on the other three floors. If you want an entire floor all to yourself, that's fine." Harry paused. "Except for the third floor. That's where Sirius lives. Lived," he corrected himself, wishing that he wouldn't still get a lump at the back of his throat each time he had to remind himself that Sirius was gone.

"Don't read too much into this, Potter, but," Draco looked distinctly uncomfortable and took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm not entirely set on the whole 'having a floor to myself' thing. Reminds me rather too much of my house, having a wing to myself, you know." Harry most certainly did not know what it was like to have an entire wing of a house – no, a _manor_ – to himself, having lived in a cupboard for the first eleven years of his life; but felt that it was probably prudent not to pick up on this particular aspect of what Draco had just said.

"So, shall one of us take this room and the other take the room upstairs, then?"

"Why can't we take the rooms on the same floor?" Harry bit his lip.

"Fred and George stayed in one of those rooms, Mr and Mrs. Weasley the other. It would feel strange." Draco nodded, strangely sympathetic.

"So, you, Weasley and Granger – "

"_Ron_ and I shared the room upstairs, and _Hermione _and_ Ginny_ shared the room on this floor," Harry said, very deliberately emphasising their first names. To his credit, Malfoy blushed as he heard the stress on their names.

"Yeah, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, sorry. It's hard to break the habit of seven years – but we've managed fairly well, haven't we? We sort of fell into using each other's first names."

Harry smiled slightly. "We're doing okay so far." Before it could get too awkward, Harry led Draco on to show him the other rooms in the house.

Once the two had decided which rooms to take – Harry was secretly very grateful that Draco'd opted for the one on the same floor as the drawing room – they made their way down to the living room and sprawled over the sofas, sitting in a companionable silence as both of them took in the events of the day.

"I think I'm going to –" started Harry at the same time as Draco said, "I might take a – ". They laughed a little awkwardly and Draco gestured for Harry to speak. "I think I'm going to get some food in for us, there's a shop just around the corner. It'll be basic stuff, but it's better than nothing." Draco nodded.

"I might take a shower, but I haven't a change of clothes or anything."

"You can borrow some of my stuff if you want, it's not as fancy as your suit and it might be a bit short around the ankles and arms, but it's all I can offer you, I'm afraid. Towels are in the cupboard in the bathroom. Don't use the grey ones – they were white once."

Draco grimaced and nodded his acceptance. "Thanks." He headed upstairs and Harry waited until he heard the sound of running water before he left.

Fifteen minutes later he returned to the house, arms laden with groceries. He opened the door, reminded Dumbledore that he hadn't killed him, and called for Malfoy to come and give him a hand. Draco appeared at the top of the stairs with a towel wrapped around his hips, his blonde hair plastered to his skull.

"Do you mind if I get changed first?" He pointed to the towel which looked dangerously close to slipping. Harry shook his head.

"Don't worry, it's not that heavy, I can probably manage it." Harry seemed rooted to the floor.

"Are you going to put them away then?" Draco prompted. Harry nodded and walked downstairs in a bit of a daze.

Harry put the groceries away in the same kind of places as Mrs. Weasley had put them while they were all staying there, but it looked so meagre – two packets of pasta in a massive cupboard on their own – that he changed his mind and put it all into one cupboard. He ordered the coffee, tea and sugar to go into their respective canisters and was in the process of putting the kettle on for a cup of coffee when Draco padded into the kitchen in a pair of jeans that hovered a bit above his ankles and a long sleeved shirt that, despite finishing short of Draco's wrists, he was determined to pull down to his fingertips. With a jolt, Harry suddenly remembered why.

"Does it hurt?" he asked softly. Draco shook his head.

"Does your scar?" Harry shook his head. "They're both linked to the Dark - To Voldemort, so now he's gone the link's been broken. I'm hoping it'll fade. I'm hardly going to be employable if I've got this dirty great _thing_ on my arm." Harry sensed the tension and quickly changed the conversation.

"Coffee? I've just put the kettle on, so I can do tea, coffee, I could maybe rustle up some hot chocolate…"

"Coffee would be wonderful, thanks." Draco took a seat at the kitchen table and looked around. "Well, Great-Aunt Black would probably have kittens if she saw one of her descendants down here," he mused. Harry smiled as he dropped two tablespoons of coffee into a cafétiere and added boiling water. He pointed at a cabinet and Draco got up, retrieving two chipped and worn mugs from the back. "So, is this place like home to you, then?"

"No," Harry answered, immediately. "Hogwarts was home to me." Malfoy scoffed.

"A massive castle full of people was _home_ to you?"

"I lived in a cupboard under the stairs in my aunt and uncle's house for the first eleven years of my life, so anywhere was better than that," he answered, sharper than he'd meant.

"But not here," Draco continued carefully, as if stepping on eggshells. "Why not?"

Harry shrugged. "Sirius had hated it here, so he ran away. He made it the headquarters of the Order because he hated everything it reminded him of. His mother's disappointment in what he'd become, even though his brother had become a Death-" Harry stopped himself. "Well, anyway. It reminded him of a really rubbish time, and so he hated being in here on his own, with only Kreacher and his mother's disappointment to keep him company. It'd be like me never returning to the Burrow or Hogwarts and having to stay back in Privet Drive."

"Harry, I don't mean to be blunt, but you can't go back to Hogwarts and you decided to leave the Burrow. Unless you're going to make the most of it and make this house your home, you're going to have to return to your aunt and uncle's house." Harry nodded. "Luckily, you've got me," Draco continued, slipping into his trademark Malfoy drawl. "And I have quite the eye for making the best of a bad situation." Harry snorted as he pushed the cafétiere down through the hot water and called for the milk. "No sugar for me, and only a splash of milk, please. Anyway," Draco added almost as an afterthought, "Just because Sirius hated it here doesn't mean you have to. It's your opportunity to make this place whatever you want it to be." Draco pushed Harry down into a seat and poured the coffee for the two of them. "I'm going to try something and I want you to just go along with it."

"I knew there was something you used to say to make all those Slytherin girls fall over themselves to get to you but I never realised it was quite so blunt," Harry replied drily.

"Shut up. Now. When you think of this place, and I mean _you_, not what you thought because of your godfather – how do you think of it?"

"Busy. Always full of people, coming in and going out. Very noisy – that portrait didn't know which way was up, the door was opening and closing so often."

"Good. Okay, let's work from the bottom up. The kitchen."

"Mrs. Weasley's cooking. Massive casseroles, all of us squeezed around the table, Tonks changing her appearance for everyone, Sirius sitting at the head of the table, occasionally forgetting to look miserable and enjoying seeing everyone together again, feeling like he finally belonged here – ow!" Malfoy'd slapped Harry around the head.

"That's not you, that's him. Stop analysing Sirius and just think about what the kitchen meant to you."

Harry rubbed the back of his head. "Total chaos. Plans all over the table, everyone jostling for room but it was the closest to family I'd ever had outside of the Burrow." Malfoy nodded.

"Okay. Living room."

"Uncomfortable, we felt like we were on ceremony because of Mrs. Black's portrait. When people from outside of the Order came to talk, usually with Kingsley or occasionally Lupin, they'd be taken there because then the rest of the Order could hear what they were saying from a particular corner of the kitchen. It felt weird just sitting in there, the three of us, so usually we just sat in mine and Ron's room or the kitchen if everyone else had gone. But then, when it was Ron and Hermione and me here, we slept in the living room because it was closest to a door if we needed to get away, and it meant we were all together. Safety in numbers."

"First floor."

"I only went in that drawing room once, and only popped my head around Hermione and Ginny's door a couple of times. That drawing room gave me the chills, seeing all the major pureblood families mapped out on one wall, realising that you were all inter-related…" Draco rolled his eyes. "I think I felt a bit jealous, maybe a bit angry at Sirius in there."

"Why?" It wasn't rude, or demanding, it was just Draco encouraging Harry to talk about what this house meant to him.

"Because all I wanted was to have a massive wizarding family, where everyone from your mum to your distant cousin who you only saw at weddings understood things like Quidditch and the benefits of one charm over the other. Bearing in mind that the people I lived with were Muggles, and my aunt was terrified by magic because of what she thought it had done to her sister – my mother – the idea of having a family full of wizards seemed perfect to me. And Sirius had had that, but he threw it away and chose to be an outcast, whereas I had being an outcast thrust upon me." Silence hung in the kitchen, and self-consciously Harry took a sip of coffee.

"Your room," Draco prompted, his tone neutral.

"Mad, frantic planning. Hermione sitting here and us trying to work out what the Order were talking about."

"Third floor."

"I didn't spend much time there, but we used to hover on the landing, dangling Fred and George's Extendable Ears over the banister so we could hear their conversations."

"Fourth floor."

"Sirius's room. Made me feel closer to him, even though he'd been gone for nearly two years when I went up there. It helped me understand him – and my parents. He'd had a letter Mum had written to him, not long after I was born. His walls were covered with pictures of girls in bikinis, riding motorcycles," Harry laughed. "And done in the most obnoxiously Gryffindor colours, too. His brother's room was the opposite entirely. Silver and green, very Slytherin. But knowing what I do now about Regulus, he wasn't as bad as Sirius made him out to be."

"Potter trusting a Slytherin, I never thought I'd see the day," Malfoy drawled. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Oh yeah, and there was Buckbeak's room too…"

"Buckbeak?" Malfoy asked, sounding panicked. "He – he kept that thing here?"

"Oh yeah," Harry continued, seriously. "While Sirius was living here, he was like a pet." Draco's eyes darted from the ceiling and back. "He was left to me in his will, and I sent him back to Hagrid," Harry reassured him.

"Oh. Thank god." Harry laughed. "Not to be rude, Potter, but are we going to have dinner any time soon?"

"Do you know any household charms, like for cooking or anything?" Catching Draco's incredulous look, one eyebrow raised, Harry corrected himself. "No, of course not. Manual labour it is."

"What?" Draco sounded even more alarmed than he had at the prospect of Buckbeak still taking up residence two floors above his room.

"Well, if neither of us know how to make dinner with magic, we'll have to do it by hand. It's not difficult – it'll be good for you to try your hand at a days' hard work for once," Harry said, smiling. "It's pasta with tomato sauce and vegetables, probably the easiest thing you can do. Just start by filling the kettle and putting it to boil – on the hob, turn the ring on."

The pair spent the next half an hour happily getting their dinner prepared, Harry instructing Draco and Draco, to Harry's immense surprise, following Harry's orders. He wondered if he'd unconsciously cast an Imperius Curse on him for a brief moment.

"So, why did you learn this thing, if you were either living with your aunt and uncle, or at Hogwarts, or with the Weasleys?" Draco asked as he attempted to chop a pepper without cutting himself.

"My aunt wasn't overly fond of feeding me properly sometimes," Harry replied, gently taking the knife from Draco and turning it over so the sharp side was against the red pepper. "She gave me the choice of cooking for myself or starving, so I taught myself. Just the basics, you know, things like pasta, beans on toast, whatever I could manage from the scraps they'd left. Not that there were many with Dudley about." Harry turned to see Draco's wide-eyed stare and his knife coming dangerously close to his fingers. "Keep an eye on what you're doing!"

"You were left to fend for yourself at what, eleven?"

"Younger," Harry said, matter-of-factly, taking Draco's chopping board from him and stirring the chopped onions, peppers and garlic in a very well-used saucepan, adding the chopped tomatoes. He added some salt, a pinch of sugar and popped the saucepan lid back on and turned the heat up. Draco was still staring at him. "_What_?"

"I just… I can't believe you had to live like that," Draco said, quietly, and turned back to the pasta, giving it a stir to check how well it was coming along. "I'm not pretending that my childhood was difficult, not by any means, but – well, it just seems like maybe you and I have more in common than we'd like to believe." Harry looked at him sceptically. Draco raised his shoulders in defence. "I'm just saying – okay, so I never had to make my own dinner from the scraps I was left, but I was pretty much left to myself as a child. Father wouldn't have much to do with me, and Mother wouldn't have made any particular effort if my father had said to leave me be, so I was mostly raised by the house elf."

"What, Dobby?" Harry asked, reaching over Draco for the wooden spoon and lifting the saucepan lid, giving its contents a quick stir.

"Yeah. Took it out on him, too, no wonder he was never all that keen on me. Your friend Hermione, she might have some odd ideas about just how much freedom the house elves are supposed to have, but she was right about respect returning respect." Harry dropped the saucepan lid with a loud clatter on the flagstone floor.

"Sorry, did you just say that Hermione, a friend of _mine_, and a Muggle-born friend at that, was right about something?" Draco shrugged. "So, just to recap: friend of mine, Muggleborn, right."

"Honestly Potter, you'd think I was some sort of monster," Draco muttered darkly, elbowing him in the ribs good-naturedly. "But yes, if you treat them with some dignity they'll obviously be more inclined to do what you've asked them to do – and they'll go the extra mile, if needs be." Harry thought about Kreacher and the difference between his relationship with Sirius and with Regulus. "Is this nearly done?" Harry grabbed a teaspoon and tasted the sauce.

"Just about. Drain the pasta, would you, but keep some of the water back, then add the sauce to that pasta and then it's ready." He reached for two plates and two forks. "I bought some wine for with it – it's not brilliant, but it's something." Draco's face lit up.

"Now this is something I _can_ do," he said, grinning. "_Accio wine_." The wine flew into his waiting hand. "_Ducere_", he commanded, and the cork came flying out, landing neatly in the plate of pasta Harry was in the process of serving out.

"You can have that one," he said levelly, and Draco burst out laughing, using magic to pour the wine into two waiting glasses. He floated one over to Harry and took the other.

"Cheers," he said, tilting his glass towards Harry.

"Cheers," Harry returned. "To fresh food and bad wine." Draco shook his head.

"To fresh starts." Harry paused and nodded his agreement. The two sipped in silence. "It smells great, Harry, really. It does."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Shelter  
><strong>Rating<strong>: T at the moment for safety, but it'll most likely increase  
><strong>Summary and pairing<strong>: "You didn't see him. It was easy for us – black and white. We were on the good side, and the Malfoys – well, Lucius, certainly, and to an extent Narcissa – were on the bad side. But Draco was torn between what he felt was right and what he felt was right by his family. And after everything that had happened, I couldn't leave him, go back to those old, petty school rivalries when he was clearly in desperate need of a friend. I just couldn't. It would've defeated the entire point of what we'd been fighting for." Harry/Draco  
><strong>Author's note<strong>: Part three! I hope you're all still enjoying it so far - I've got another part written and a fifth in the works, so I hope your interest is still being held!

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><p>Harry settled back into his seat, draining the last of his wine. Their dirty plates were stacked in the sink and the empty wine bottle was on the table. Draco was rummaging through the cupboards, looking for something.<p>

"So, if we're going to live together, we should probably get to know each other better," Harry mused, twirling the wine glass between his fingers by its stem. Draco sat up, the blood rushing from his face, clutching a very dusty-looking bottle with a face that spoke of his pride.

"My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy, my birthday is the 5th of June and my favourite colour is blue," he drawled, returning to the table and plonking the bottle onto the wooden tabletop with a bang. "Your turn."

"I didn't mean stuff like that," Harry said. "I meant, you know, more personal stuff." Draco rolled his eyes.

"Oh for God's sake, Potter. You are such a child. Half a bottle of wine and you're willing to tell me all of your secrets. You need to learn how to drink _real_ drinks," he informed him seriously, calling for two glasses and pouring the Firewhiskey into them. "Oh, may I?" Harry gestured for him to continue.

"Well, this house was left to me so everything in it is mine, and what's mine is mine and also yours… Actually, it's not yours. But you can have some, seeing as you're pouring a very generous measure for me, thanks ever so," he said, reaching for the fuller of the two glasses.

"How very Slytherin of you," Draco replied, topping up his own glass so it matched Harry's level.

"I could've been in Slytherin," Harry said, as if he'd just mentioned that the sky was particularly grey today. Draco choked on his mouthful.

"You – what?"

"Yeah," Harry mused. "The Sorting Hat was making its mind up and I just thought, _not Slytherin_, and it decided to put me into Gryffindor. Just goes to show that the two houses aren't as unlike as people would have us believe." He returned his gaze to Draco. "I've barely told anyone that."

"I feel so privileged," Draco replied. "I suppose it's my turn now then?"

"Looks like it," Harry nodded, and took a massive gulp of the Firewhiskey. Draco reached forwards and tipped the glass away from Harry's mouth.

"Go slowly, it's not pumpkin juice!" he cried, incredulously. "Do you have any idea how much that's worth?"

"Do _you_?" Harry asked.

"Yes, as it happens. A vintage like that, it's probably worth somewhere in the region of… two hundred galleons." It was Harry's turn to choke. "One thing I will say for Sirius – he clearly had very good taste in Firewhiskey."

"I don't know what I'm more stunned by, the fact that I've just drank something worth two hundred galleons, or that you've said something complimentary about Sirius."

"Wrong, it's secret option number three: that you get to have dinner with the charming, handsome and _very_ eligible young Draco Malfoy. It is a pleasure denied to many." Harry grimaced.

"Nice to know that your family's fall from grace hasn't affected your ego too badly," he retorted, then instantly regretted it. Fortunately, Draco was just fuzzy around the edges enough not to fully comprehend what Harry'd said – either that or he had noticed but had decided to gloss over it.

"Well, we Malfoys can always bounce back from a hardship," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

"I think that's a trait unique to you, Draco – and it's a very Gryffindor one."

"How dare you," Draco replied lazily, "I shall have to punish you by asking you a horrifically embarrassing question. How many girls have been lucky enough to exchange bodily fluids with the Chosen One?"

Without even thinking about the horrific imagery Draco's question presented, Harry answered, "Two."

"Only two?" Draco asked, in shock. "Protecting their virtue?"

"Protecting mine," Harry muttered. "Neither of them went much further than a bit of very light fondling," he said, sounding grumpy.

"Well Potter, I am surprised. I knew you'd managed to convince Cho Chang to kiss you and obviously you landed Ginny Weasley, but I rather suspected that you'd had at least one other dalliance in your six years at that school – particularly as they were all spent playing the hero," he joked. "So nobody else then?"

Harry shook his head. "And what about you, you great Lothario, how many have you wooed?" Draco looked to the ceiling, lost in thought. "Draco?"

"I'm counting," Draco replied sternly. "Don't interrupt me." Harry burst out laughing. "Okay. Well, Pansy…"

"Obviously."

"What do you mean, 'obviously'?"

"I saw you with your head in her lap on the train, that's not a particularly friendly gesture, is it?"

"You're wrong Potter, it's a very friendly gesture, although this goes a long way to explain your lack of experience with women – and lack of friends, for that matter." Harry frowned. "Let's see… Cecilia, so that's two, Aurelie – one of the Beauxbatons girls, she gave the most amazing – well, no, I think Blaise was possibly better, so that's three and four, who else…"

"Sorry, did you say Blaise? As in Blaise Zabini?"

"Yes," Draco answered, mildly. "What's your point?"

"Blaise. Zabini. The, you know. The guy."

"Yes, Potter, what's your point?"

"Nothing, I just didn't realise you… were that way."

"But you did know that Blaise was."

"Well, I'm not having reconciliatory talks with Blaise, and yeah, I'd guessed. He was always so sharp looking, even in uniform. And he was one of the few guys Ron didn't bristle at when he walked near Hermione, so even Ron must've sensed that he wasn't a threat."

"I wore a suit all through sixth year!" Draco replied, a little bit peeved. "Didn't you think I looked 'sharp'?"

"Well, no offence Draco, but I spent all of sixth year trying to work out what you were trying to do, I didn't really have much time to observe your sartorial choices."

"You noticed Blaise's," Draco said, sulkily. Harry laughed. "So, does it bother you?" he asked Harry, who shook his head.

"No, I knew a couple of people who were gay or bisexual at school, so it doesn't bother me at all," Harry said, honestly. "I was just a bit surprised that you… Everyone knew that you'd been with a lot of girls, so I think we all assumed something that is evidently not entirely the case."

"How many girls did these rumourmongers believe I'd managed to charm then?" Malfoy asked, flashing his winning grin, which was completely lost on Harry.

"Somewhere in the near-hundreds," Harry said, "But we've only got up to four so far…"

"That's not a list of the people I've _kissed_, Potter," Draco pointed out, which made Harry flush scarlet.

"Oh, so you… you know, with Blaise?" Draco shook his head and took a swig of his Firewhiskey.

"Not – are you sure you want to hear all of this?" Harry nodded but took another sip of his drink all the same. "Not all the way, we were too young and too confused to do that when we were fooling around, and then things got complicated."

"Between the two of you?"

"No, because of my becoming a Death Eater and you following me around like a bloodhound. Made it impossible to get any time just the two of us." Harry burst out laughing.

"Well, let me apologise for stalking you all throughout sixth year, if I'd known I was preventing you from getting a shag I would have left you well to it," he said, winking. Draco laughed, a melifluous sound that was totally different from the scoff Harry'd grown accustomed to over the past seven years.

"So, Harry, who are these members of the pink oboe orchestra that you know of?"

"Well, Seamus, obviously, we all have our suspicions about Dean-"

"He's not gay. Or bi, either."

"Oh. Okay. Ron and I had been taking bets on how long it'd be before we walked in on the two of them in a very compromising position. Um, Terry Boot, a couple of guys in Fred and George's year… I think there was a girl in their year who's living in a commune with a Muggle woman called 'Celestia Nirvana Moonflower'." Draco shook his head in disbelief. "Oh yeah, and Oliver Wood."

"Oliver Wood's _gay?_" Draco's eyes were like saucers. Harry shrugged.

"Well, yeah. I met his partner a few years ago, lovely guy. They met through the team Wood plays for." Draco snorted. "And you call _me_ the child - the _Quidditch_ team. Wood was on the reserves for Puddlemere United, and Chris had something to do with publicity for the team."

"I can't believe this. When I was running after Cedric Diggory in fourth year –" Harry burst out laughing. "Shut up – and it turned out he was straight, all evidence to the contrary, there was Wood all along, out and proud and mine for the taking just a year before."

"Well," Harry said, uneasily, "he never really came out as such. I bumped into him at the World Cup before fourth year, after he'd left Hogwarts, and he introduced me to his parents and Chris then. I just remember a really long pause before he said 'friend' but I was so excited about the match I didn't really think anything more of it, until it appeared in the blind items column in the Daily Prophet a year or so later."

"You know, I _remember_ that particular item," Draco said, frowning. "Yes, I did see it, because I think one of the seventh years made some comment about it and Blaise and I were sat next to each other, hands held under the table." He smiled slightly. "Ah, young love. Anyway, I had to dig my nails in to stop Blaise from launching himself at whoever it was who'd said it." Draco topped his glass up and did the same for Harry. "So that was about him, then?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, taking his glass from Draco's outstretched hand. "I still can't believe you fancied Cedric," he said, grinning.

"We're all allowed embarrassing crushes, Potter," Draco said mildly. "I'm sure you have one that you've kept very very close to your chest."

Harry paused and then, looking very determinedly at his shoes, mumbled something that sounded a lot like "Churlywusly."

"I beg your pardon?" Draco enquired, leaning forward and cupping his hand around his ear. "I didn't quite get that, say again?"

"Charlie Weasley," Harry said, flushing red from his hairline all down his neck.

"There's _another_ Weasley?" Draco asked, incredulously.

"I find it astonishing that you find that more surprising than the fact that I've just admitted to having a thing for another bloke," Harry informed Draco, trying to calm down the blush.

"That'sbecause I'm not all that surprised that you did have a thing for another bloke," Draco replied, lifting his glass up. "So, tell me. What does this Charles Weasley have that the other four don't?"

"Five."

"What?"

"There are five boys, and then Ginny."

"Who's the fifth?"

"Bill, he married Fleur Delacour, the Triwizard champion from Beauxbatons."

"I _know_ who Fleur is. Christ, Potter, I saw one of her friends in some _very_ compromising positions," Draco said, and clearly allowed his mind to wander for a moment, a smile spreading across his face. "Oh happy days. Anyway. Yes. Tell me all about this dreamy, hunkalicious Charlie."

Harry was bright scarlet now. "I never said he was 'hunkalicious'!" he protested.

"I know, I'm just imagining."

"He studies dragons in Romania," Harry answered. "Quite muscular, but not very tall-"

"Oh, you two would make such an adorable shortarse couple," Draco mocked.

"-Very tanned. Well, he looked tanned, but I think that was the freckles."

"And why him over the others?" Draco asked, leaning forwards. Harry shrugged.

"I dunno, I suppose because I met him and Bill last of all the Weasley siblings, so he was more of an unknown to me. They both were, really – that summer, I think I changed who I liked best depending on who'd spoken to me last." Draco laughed. "The others… Well, I've known Ron since day one and met Fred and George at pretty much the same time, Percy was always a bit of a…"

"Massive tosser," Draco helped.

"He wasn't the easiest to warm to," Harry tried not to laugh, striving for diplomacy. "He didn't make it any easier for himself, but he seems to have got over himself this last year, after Fred died."

"And does Ron know?"

Harry stared at him incredulously. "He had a hard enough time with Ginny, how do you think he'd react if I told him that when I was fourteen I fancied his two eldest brothers?"

"I think he'd secretly be a little bit disappointed it wasn't him you'd had a thing for," Draco said, swirling the Firewhiskey in his glass. Harry was silent for a while.

"Hey, what was the deal with getting me to talk about the house earlier?"

"Just trying to work out how that head of yours works," Draco replied. "You know, every single thing you said… You may as well have had a sign above your head reading 'Free to a good home'." Draco spread his hands apart in front of himself as if picturing the sign floating above Harry and laughed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded, trying and failing to keep his tone neutral. Draco registered that he'd hit a nerve.

"It's nothing bad," he said, backtracking but not trying to apologise for what he'd said. "I mean, with a childhood like yours it's no wonder you gravitate towards that whole loveable-yet-dysfunctional family dynamic. The Burrow feels like a second home to you, doesn't it?" Harry nodded. "Well there you go. Your aunt and uncle deprived you of basic human necessities throughout your life, your aunt was _clearly_ a neurotic control freak – don't stare at me as if I've read your mind, Potter, you and your family are about as difficult to read as The Quibbler. You have to sift throught the total nonsense too…"

"What is your point, Malfoy?"

"My _point_ is that you've been compensating for the lack of parental support in your childhood by surrounding yourselves with people who seem to make it their mission to nurture and coddle you, even at nearly eighteen. It's not an insult," he pointed out, noticing Harry's glare, "it's just an observation. Everything you said about the emotions you have towards this place go back to this idea of a massive family. Everbody's interconnected, getting under each other's feet, helping each other out when things get hard, bickering but always making up afterwards. The unconditional love you have as a family. Even if they're not related by blood, you're lucky to have had it at one point in your life, Harry," Draco said, seriously. "_Especially_ as they're not related. I envy you that."

The two sat in comfortable silence for a while, then Harry, having registered the time on his watch, decided that he probably should go to bed. "You coming up, too, or will you stay down here with the dregs of my godfather's two hundred galleon whiskey?"

"There's another eleven bottles stashed in that cupboard so don't worry." Draco yawned. "Yeah, I think I'm going to head for bed too. I warn you, I'm not much of a morning person before nine if I don't have a mug of coffee as big as my head to look forward to."

"I think I might need that coffee tomorrow morning," Harry winced as he stood up. "I can feel the headache brewing already," he said, grimacing.

"Tomorrow I shall teach you a very useful hangover cure," Draco said. "But you're not learning it tonight – you need to have one belter of a hangover before you can fully appreciate being able to remove it."

"Cheers," Harry muttered darkly.

Draco followed Harry up the stairs, laughing all the way and only stumbling once or twice per floor.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: Shelter  
><strong>Rating<strong>: T at the moment for safety, but it'll most likely increase  
><strong>Summary and pairing<strong>: "You didn't see him. It was easy for us – black and white. We were on the good side, and the Malfoys – well, Lucius, certainly, and to an extent Narcissa – were on the bad side. But Draco was torn between what he felt was right and what he felt was right by his family. And after everything that had happened, I couldn't leave him, go back to those old, petty school rivalries when he was clearly in desperate need of a friend. I just couldn't. It would've defeated the entire point of what we'd been fighting for." Harry/Draco  
><strong>Author's note<strong>: Part four. Part five's on its way - updates might be a bit slower from this point onwards, just a heads up. Hope you're still enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it! Thanks for your reviews so far - keep them coming! Let me know how you're finding it so I know what to include to keep you, my wonderful readers, loyal ;]

* * *

><p><em>Red and green streams of light battling for control in the destroyed courtyard of the school. Harry's arms were shaking, he wasn't going to be able to hold it back any longer… Suddenly his attention was distracted by the light laugh of Draco Malfoy. He turned his head and saw Draco and Blaise lying on Regulus' bed, Blaise's dark skin flush against Draco's pale skin. Blaise dropped his head down and Malfoy rose to meet his lips, the taut skin of his neck stretching as he reached Blaise's mouth. Suddenly the green light was rushing towards Harry and Blaise was snaking down Malfoy's body, trailing light kisses and fluttering fingertips along Malfoy's chest. Harry heard himself saying, "No, you can't kill me, I won't be able to watch…"<em>

He awoke with a jump, his forehead clammy and a curious, slightly damp patch over his crotch. He blindly fumbled for his glasses and watch and sat up, squinting to read the watch face while the rest of his body caught up with being awake. Seven o'clock. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. He wouldn't be able to sleep now. Reluctantly, he swung his legs out of bed and pulled a pair of pyjama bottoms and his discarded shirt from the previous day on and decided to go downstairs to make some coffee.

As he passed Draco's door, he noticed it had been left slightly ajar and he could hear little snuffling noises coming from the room. "Never took you for a snorer, Malfoy," he said quietly, and was just about to carry on downstairs when he heard a groan that sounded like Malfoy was stuck in a nightmare. Cautiously, he stepped into the room and saw Draco twitching in his sleep, calling out half-formed words, his brow furrowed.

"Draco," Harry said, quietly. "Draco, wake up, you're having a dream. Draco. Draco!" He raised his voice to no avail, and shook Draco's shoulder to wake him. "Draco, wake up!" Draco sat bolt upright with a shout, his eyes open and his wand pointed at Harry's face. Harry took a step back. "Hey, it's just me." Draco lowered his wand. "I was on my way downstairs to make some coffee and I could hear – I could hear you were having a nightmare. It sounded bad."

Draco tried to take a deep breath to steady his racing heartbeat. "It was," he said, his voice shaky. Harry hesitantly sat at the foot of the bed.

"Are you okay?" Draco shook his head and looked down, swallowing back fear.

"It was so _real_," he managed to force out. "And I was trying to tell them not to run, to face the decisions they'd made, to just accept whatever your side would give them for defecting right at the end, but they just ran and ran and then they Disapparated and left me behind."

"But it was just a dream," Harry said, trying to use the same soothing tone he'd often heard Aunt Petunia using on Dudley when he'd had a nightmare as a child. "It wasn't real, it was just a dream."

Draco stared coldly at him. "No, it wasn't." Harry looked away. "I just shouldn't sleep anymore, I keep reliving the same thing, over and over again." He sighed, but it was a shaky one. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Five past seven," Harry replied. Draco tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

"Great. I need to sleep more but I'm frightened to sleep." He laughed bitterly. "How pathetic is that? An eighteen year old, scared of going to sleep because of his dreams."

"I could stay here, if you wanted. Not _here_ here, not on your bed, but I could sit in this chair here," Harry pointed at the chair where Draco had draped his suit, "and if you started to, you know, relive it, I could wake you up."

Draco, with his blonde hair dishevelled, his eyes sunken and pillow creases on his cheeks, had never looked so vulnerable, so broken. "Gosh Potter, that is an exceedingly heterosexual offer," he manged to quip, vulnerability be damned. Harry rolled his eyes and stood up, making to leave. Draco grabbed his arm to stop him. "Please." His voice was tired and desperate. Hesitatingl, Harry nodded and moved towards the chair, moving Draco's suit aside. Draco smiled weakly at him and wriggled under the covers. "Don't wake me up for another two hours at least," he said sleepily, his eyes closing.

"_Accio book_," Harry whispered, and _Flying with the Cannons_ came rushing towards him. He tucked his legs up into the chair and began to read, looking up every so often to check on Draco and then the time. Draco slept soundly, oblivious to everything, even Harry dropping the book onto the wooden floor when he began to nod off himself.

Harry awoke with a start and looked at his watch. Half past ten. Malfoy's bed was empty, the covers thrown back. Harry yawned and stretched, feeling his bones crack as he moved around. He wandered downstairs and into the kitchen, where Draco was sat at the table, drinking a mug of coffee which was, as promised, the size of his head.

"Morning," he said, pushing a much more manageable sized mug of coffee towards Harry. "So, how did _you_ sleep? Some guardian you are," he scoffed, drinking his coffee.

"I'm clearly a fantastic guardian if my ward managed to sleep so soundly that I was able to sleep too," Harry pointed out, and moved towards where he'd put the bread. "D'you want some toast?"

"Good point. Yes please. Do you have any jam?" Harry nodded. "I'll take chocolate spread then."

"You're being deliberately obstreperous."

"When am I not?" Harry paused and then conceded.

"Good point."

"Jam's fine for me, anyway. Did you want sugar in your coffee?" Harry held up one finger and Draco nodded, stirring it into Harry's mug.

"So, what are we doing today? Vanquishing evil – oh no, you took care of that last month. Damn. Looks like we'll have to settle for something much less grandiose, something like bringing down a Muggle dictator." Harry handed him a plate with two slices of toast on it – crusts cut off. "How did you know?" Draco said, feigning an air of blissful domesticity.

"Lucky guess. I've got a couple of jobs I need to do, actually – I need to Owl Hermione and find out if she, or anyone else, knows how to remove some of these protective spells."

"Are you going to mention your lodger?" Draco asked through a mouthful of toast. Harry peered over the top of his glasses.

"You've got jam on your nose." Draco wiped it off and looked at his jammy hand as if it had offended him. "Not unless you particularly want me to," Harry said in response to Draco's question. "Why, do you want me to?"

"Not particularly," Draco said. "Meant to be in hiding, remember?" Harry nodded wisely. "Do you get the Daily Prophet here?"

"Not since they started saying I was a liar, no," Harry said mildly, settling down to the table with his own plate of toast. "Besides, I don't think it's even up and running yet, is it?" Draco shrugged. "And I can't persuade you to venture out of these doors?"

"Not until you get rid of _that_ spell, no."

"What are you going to do with yourself while you're here, then?"

"I'll find something," Draco said, vaguely. "Might just sit in the living room and read for a bit, maybe raid the silver vaults, you know, whatever." Harry smiled.

"Slim pickings there, I'm afraid," he informed Draco. "But there's quite the collection of books. I would say, mind the one that looks the least harmless. It's got a nasty temper on it." Draco looked disbelieving. "No, really. It tried to set fire to Ron's eyebrows." Draco snorted. "Right, so I'm going to get dressed and get this letter for Hermione written and sent. You sure you'll be okay in here? I'll try not to be too long."

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "Go, go. I'm a grown up, I'll probably cope." Harry nodded and sprinted upstairs and into the shower.

Once he'd stepped out of the shower he changed and sat down to write a note to Hermione, his wet fringe dripping onto the parchment.

_ Hermione –_

_I'm at Grimmauld Place, just thought I'd let you know everything's okay. It feels weird being here without you and Ron for company, but I think it'll start feeling normal soon. I don't suppose you have any idea how to remove some of the protective spells Moody placed on the house, do you? Particularly the one with Dumbledore, that one's especially grim when you're not expecting it. I hope everyone's doing well at the Burrow – send my love to the Weasleys (although I'm sure Ron isn't in need of any at the moment ;]) Let me know if there's anything I can do for anybody my end. Look after yourselves._

_ Harry_

Harry folded the note and stood up, then made his way out of the house and Apparated to Diagon Alley. Once there, he headed straight for what was serving as the Post Office. A long queue had already formed and was snaking out the doors and along the pavement.

"Ludicrous, isn't it," an old wizard in a curious-smelling courdroy jacket muttered, shaking his head. "Nothing in this bloody country ever works when you need it to. What am I supposed to do with this?" he complained, his voice rising. "I need to tell my wife I'm alright – sent her and the kiddies off to France for a bit, kept them out of the country, like – but now, it's been almost a month since everything died down and you still can't get a bloody letter posted for love nor money!"

"I'm sure they're doing everything they can," Harry said, uneasily. "It'll take a while for these sorts of infrastructures to get back on their feet…"

"Pah!" the old wizard laughed. "After the First Wizarding War, the post offices were up and running a week after He was defeated an' all! These bloody amateurs don't know how to do their jobs properly…" Turning to Harry, he suddenly recognised him. "Well blow me down. It's Harry Potter!"

The other witches and wizards in the queue started mumbling. Brilliant. All Harry wanted to do was post a letter.

"Thank you, son," some tiny witch said, patting his hand and looking up into his face with shining eyes.

"You shouldn't have to wait, Mr. Potter, take my place in the queue," someone from near the front offered, beaming.

"No, no, I couldn't, you were here well before me…"

"I insist!"

"Um," Harry looked around wildly, longing for Hedwig back, "no, I – I couldn't. It can wait."

"HEY!" The wizard who'd spoken to Harry before had jumped out of the line and was banging on the window, alarming the witches who were working inside. "HARRY POTTER'S HERE AND HE WANTS TO SEND A LETTER."

"No, please," Harry pleaded, wishing he was somewhere, anywhere but here. "It's really not that important…"

"She says there's an owl that should be coming back any minute now," the man said, returning to the line. "She'll make sure you get it." Harry looked around at everyone in the queue, most of whom had returned to their place in the line, chatting idly to those around them.

"Give me your letter," Harry said. The wizard handed Harry his letter, puzzled. "I promise you, this one will get sent in, oh, about a minute," he said seriously as a screech owl flew overhead.

"But, your letter-"

"Doesn't matter. It can wait. Just – please. Let me do this for you. Yours is much more important than mine." The wizard thanked him profusely, and Harry made his way to the front of the queue, past a volley of murmurs of approval and loud whispers. Flushing scarlet, he handed the letter to the witch behind the desk in the little hut and said quietly, "I don't suppose you have any Floo powder, do you?" She shook her head. "Okay, never mind. The network's probably still down, anyway. How much to post the letter?"

"Free of charge, Mr. Potter," she replied, smiling. Harry accepted this a lot more willingly than if it had been his own letter he was posting, thanked the witch and walked out of the post office.

His one plan for the day scuppered, Harry decided he might as well just head back to Grimmauld Place. He Disapparated and reappeared outside of the house with a _crack_, walked through the door (gently reminding Dumbledore it hadn't been him), and was surprised to see Draco curled up in one of the armchairs in the living room.

"You're back early," Draco commented, not looking up from whatever it was he was holding.

"The queue in the post office was mental, it might be faster to wait for Eyelopes to re-open than to try and get anything posted," Harry replied, taking off his jumper. "Coffee?"

"I'm okay, thanks." Harry walked in and saw that Draco wasn't reading at all, but was examining a photo.

"That.. .That's a photo of my parents." He crouched by Draco's side. "I've never seen this one before. Where did you get it?"

"It was tucked into this book," Draco explained, indicating the book that lay open on the coffee table. Harry frowned and took the photo from Draco and turned it over.

"1979. The year after they left Hogwarts." Harry turned it back over to Lily and James, who were kissing, clearly unaware of the photograph being taken.

"They look happy," Draco commented innocuosly. "Really happy."

"Your parents must have been happy – they married each other."

Draco laughed. "They married for convenience, not for love. You were lucky, though, to have had parents who loved each other – and loved you."

"In case you'd forgotten, my parents died," Harry said, his voice rising slightly.

"For you." Harry opened his mouth to protest and shut it sharply. "My parents would have killed me if they thought it might get them back in Voldemort's good books."

"Your parents? Or your father?" Draco glared at Harry. "It was only your father's name that got ruined on the family tree, not your mother's. And what did you mean when you called him a traitor, anyway? A traitor to who? Voldemort?"

"Me!" Draco shouted, spots of pink appearing high on his cheeks. "He was a traitor to me! I was given this, this _impossible_ task because he'd failed so miserably, and it was obvious throughout that I was struggling, he was _persona non grata_ all throughout last year, and he _knew_ I couldn't do it, I couldn't become what he'd become, but the only time he turned and ran from Voldemort and the choices he'd made was when it they'd lost and he realised that he'd be punished for being linked to them."

"And your mother?"

"My mother follows my father's lead."

"You're sorely mistaken if you think your mother is that weak."

"Don't pretend to know my mother, Potter," Draco spat out.

"I don't pretend to know her at all. I just know that she risked her life in the Forbidden Forest by telling Voldemort I was dead, all because I could tell her that you were still alive. Just like you saved my life when I was caught by the Snatchers and you pretended you didn't know who I was."

The two of them stood, facing each other, instinctively reaching for their wands. Harry moved his hand away and sank into a seat, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"We need to learn how to settle disputes without resorting to this if we're going to live together," he said slowly. Draco nodded.

"Coffee?"


End file.
